I said, "Yes. I'll be good." Thank you so very much," Mary told me with exaggerated gratitude. "Andnext I need to hear you speak in a proper voice. ...A pretty voice."After a few tries I sounded almost as fruity as him. He gave me acongratulatory pat on the shoulder. It made me shudder. Being touchedby another man was not one of my perverted preferences. Far from it.In that wispy voice, with extreme politeness, I meekly requested, "But ifyou could please hide my face, Mary, I would really. " Then tell us why did Mr. Stone come visit you at your home, by your car after we met with you?" asked Wyman.'Shit! How did they know about that?' Now I knew that feeling of being watched that day wasn't just my imagination. I knew they must have followed me. "I don't know you're talking about," I lied.Fleck shook his head and walked toward me. "Oh Ms. Perry. Why do you continue to lie to me?" Why do you continue to bother me?" I asked.When he stood in front of me, he slapped me so hard I. " Why don't we go to the kitchen and sit down, and I can pour us some coffee. Freshly made. A mild, but flavorful blend?" he smiled a little as he imitated the spiel of the young baristas working at the local coffee shops."Sold," she said with a smile, which reduced George's anxiety level a couple of degrees.As they walked back to the kitchen, Linda, who had never been in George's house before, looked around with curiosity. Everything was clean and neat, not obsessively so, but with that homey. Only once, as they entered the city limits, did Allison make a sound - a sob, which she quickly choked down. They had just passed Allison's old house. A few moments later the Cadillac rolled into the driveway of Connie's bungalow. "Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig," said Connie, nervously. The house was a split-level built in the fifties, in a neighborhood that had not managed to keep up with the market. The architecture had strived for modern, but missed the mark, landing something.
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